


Glitter

by LittleSammy



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:16:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSammy/pseuds/LittleSammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In theory, Ziva takes Tony to a shady nightclub because she wants to meet an informant and needs him to have her back. In reality, things are different. Far from explicit, but still very much not safe for work. Really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Glitter

**Author's Note:**

> This is bordering on cracky, but since it made for so many pretty images in my head, I don't feel like I have to apologize for it. ;) You'll know the exact moment when you should have an Adam Lambert song on full blast - preferably 'Strut' (search Youtube for the AOL session of it).
> 
> Also - even though this is far from explicit, it is very much NOT safe for work. Enjoy.

She leads him to the employee's entrance of a shady little nightclub he has never been to before, and that in itself leaves him suspicious.

"Hey, D," she greets the bouncer who lets them in, and he smiles at her as if she's an old friend.

The guy is a walking stereotype - all bulging muscles, barely secured by the black tee that says "Security". Bald, scar marring his lower lip, beady eyes. Expression like a friendly puppy while he looks at Ziva, but once he switches his glare to Tony, the agent actually gets nervous.

"Boyfriend," she says and runs her hand down his arm. Tony does his best to not turn to her and ask what the fuck. Strangely, suppressing the urge works best while he puts his arm around her waist and draws her lithe body up against his. 

She surprises him a bit because she flows into the movement so easily that it looks like they do this all the time. The muscle looks back and forth between them before he shakes his head and steps aside to let them in. 

"Shame, baby," he says while he gives her a sly grin. Her answering laugh feels like a caress down Tony's back, and he does his best to not think too closely about that while she drags him through the overstuffed tunnels of the backstage area.

"So why am I here again?" he asks eventually, and Ziva glances at him briefly, trying to judge his mood.

"Backup," she replies. She stops in front of a small door that is the same color as the wall and easy to miss. "My contact will make the switch during the show, but I need you to have my back, just in case."

 _'Show?'_ he thinks and wants to wonder, but then just asks instead, "You don't trust your contact?"

"Not enough to do this on my own." She opens the door. Before she slips inside, she tilts her head and adds, "Besides, this place gets crowded."

*** *** ***

He waits for her because she tells him to and because he always does. He has no idea what she's doing in there right now. For all he knows she could be on her way to Canada through an underground tunnel.

He sighs and lets his head fall back against the wall. He's not quite sure why he even agreed to come along -- except that he'll always have her back, so there. He is sure, though, that this is one of the few moments when he wants to ask her why she couldn't make McGee sacrifice some sleep.

*** *** ***

She's changed when she comes out again. Not in the way that she doesn't look like Ziva anymore, because she sure does. She's wearing one of her old Israeli army shirts and cargo pants and high combat boots. Her hair is pulled back into a tight bun, and yeah, technically, that does look a lot like the Ziva he knows. But the slightly tacky camouflage muscle shirt that he can see underneath the army shirt doesn't quite fit the regular image, and he stares at her and frowns and wonders what else makes her feel so off.

Makeup, he suddenly thinks while she looks up at him. Sparkly makeup that he would have never expected to see on her face. Dark blues and lips that actually glitter when she turns her face into the light. Stage makeup.

"You best wait backstage. There's a spot from which you can see the entire room. Come, I'll show you."

He wants to, but he can't stop staring at her shiny lips, especially when they move so enticingly. 

"You're not gonna sing, right?" There's glitter on her cheeks, too. 

"No." Something tickles the back of his mind but the front is too busy with processing the way her sparkly lips part and smile at him to pay any attention to the slightly unnerved feeling. "But I'll entertain," she says and hands him a robe that she insists she's going to need later.

*** *** ***

He knows he's supposed to watch the room and not her, but it's hard work when she is strutting down the stage like she owns it.

Her hair is the first thing to come undone. It explodes around her shoulders when she rips out her hairband and shakes her head. She stomps her boots and shakes her hips, and from the sounds her audience makes, that was the perfect way to start up the show. Tony kind of agrees but mostly he still can't wrap his brain around what he sees.

"Shit," he mutters while he watches her get down to her knees, her hands tearing at her shirt to reveal the tacky one. Her body arcs, her head falls back, and camouflage suddenly does things for him he would have never suspected. His mouth is dry while he watches her grind her hips to the rhythm of some loud, snappy dance number. Now he knows why she didn't want McGee to tag along. "Christ, Ziva..."

The tacky shirt doesn't last all that much longer, and it goes in a way that makes him suspect the cheap quality was intentional - it rips easily and makes room for a tiny thing that is supposed to be a bikini top. Also camouflage. 

She has them howling by now, and he can't blame them. He wants to do a lot more than just howl at her right now. By the time she's down to just a tiny thong that barely holds the tips she gets he's so hard it almost hurts.

He can't get over the glitter, somehow. It's not just on her face.

*** *** ***

Her skin is flushed with excitement when he opens the robe so she can slip inside. He tries not to stare but he can't help it, and while she turns to slide into the robe, he catches a hint of caramel flesh and strong thighs. He's seen much more of her just minutes earlier, but for some reason this small glimpse seems a lot more intimate than what she gave away freely on the stage.

She's covered in a thin sheen of sweat that mingles with the glitter. Her breasts are tiny, but mindnumbingly perfect, and he suddenly wants to suck on them so badly that his mind is distracted for the second it takes to wrap the robe around her.

He moves to step back instantly, out of the danger zone, but just then he realizes that she's leaning back against him for the briefest moment. His body gives an almost painful jolt of attention at the unexpected contact. It's gone again as soon as it happened, but his brain feels fuzzy after that.

*** *** ***

He follows her back to the dressing room and she leaves the door open for him, so he slips inside after her and clicks the door shut behind himself. His breath is slightly out of whack and he doesn't quite trust his voice yet, so he just reaches for her arm to get her attention.

And once more, she flows into the movement so easily. She's almost pliant when he tugs at her arm. Her back hits the door, and her robe suddenly gapes open and shows a naked strip of flesh down her middle, and that kills a few more brain cells for him. He opens his mouth to say something and forgets the words again while his eyes dance over the soft curves of her breasts and the glittering skin between them. Her nipples are still covered but he sees them poking through the fabric with clear excitement, and his mind is flooded once more with images of him just leaning down and sucking those hard nubs through her robe until she moans for him. He has to clear his throat before he can form his question.

"You got your intel?"

She stares at his mouth and suddenly blinks as if she just had to remind herself to pay attention.

"No," she says, and her voice is a low and rough thing that sends another rush of sensation straight to his cock. She licks her lips and Tony finds himself leaning closer to her involuntarily. "But he usually shows up for the second show."

"Second?" His voice almost cracks at the word. Right now he can't imagine getting through the next five minutes without rupturing something, let alone a second show.

Ziva is watching his mouth again. Her pupils are dilated and her breath still comes in fast, shallow bursts that he can feel on his skin, and fuck, that doesn't help at all. 

"How..." He clears his throat again, but it doesn't have much of an effect. He's still reduced to a rough whisper, and it's interesting to see how her skin tightens at that. "How will he make the switch?"

She blinks again, and he wonders when exactly this has turned into something so close that he's almost backing her up against the dressing room door. He wants to groan when her hand slides down her body and she pushes her pelvis towards him. Then she tugs one of the folded dollars out of her thong and holds it up in front of his face.

"In one of these," she murmurs.

He takes the note from her and stares at it. There's glitter on it now. "Clever," he says, then drops it while he puts his arm against the door beside her head, mostly just to keep some distance between them after all and not lean further into her out of reflex. He's too close already, and that's not the way he wants to die, really. 

Her eyes flick down his chest, lingering on what she sees over the undone buttons, and then she licks her lips again, and that's when he feels his cock begin to throb in earnest. Well. Maybe it is the way. 

"You are _so_ turned on," he states the obvious, and she laughs, her shoulders still pressed firmly against the door while she arcs her back so her hips move even further towards his. She brings her left hand up and rests it on his hip, fingers splayed over the curve, her thumb brushing down the inside slowly until a shudder runs through him.

"Like it did nothing for you," she breathes. Her words are a warm challenge on his cheek. Her thumb keeps doing its thing, and he can't help thinking that if he'd tuck to the right, he'd feel that investigative movement now right where it counts. His brain has gone on a southern vacation by the time she locks the door and says that she has thirty minutes before she has to be back on stage.

"I have this theory," she says while her palm slides over his hard cock and cups him through his pants.

"Yeah?" She's killing him already, and she knows it, but he can't bring himself to complain because, fuck. What a way to go.

"I think my tips will be a lot better when I look like I have just been fucked."

Her fingers tighten around him, and he groans. "Thirty minutes?" he asks, and the words are barely more than an urgent, heated whisper against her mouth.

"Twenty-nine..."

*** *** ***

There's glitter on his shirt and his tongue and God knows where else. She didn't bother to cover up the hickey he gave her accidentally, and he knows it's juvenile but it gives him a rush to see her parade it around like that. He gets through the second show a lot better but he still wants to make her scream again before they get home. And he has a feeling that she won't be averse to that either.

She was right and her contact shows up towards the end of her second show. He watches the guy tuck a few bills into her thong, and while she blows the man a kiss, Tony doesn't care if his intel is worth shit. It was more than worth it for him.

Her tips are almost doubled, too, so there.


End file.
